Chapter 2: Bruises, Betrayal, and Birthday Ruin

I just toughed it out all day. After school, I grabbed Mason Carter and told him to help me with homework that night. If I was stuck in his body, I might as well get some help. “You owe me, man.”

“But, my mom...” He hadn’t finished when I was dragged away. One second he’s talking, the next, someone’s got a death grip on my shoulder.

“Evan!”

“Mom!”

We both shouted at the same time. It was like a bad sitcom. My mom—well, Mason’s mom now—looked ready to explode. Her eyes narrowed, and I swear I saw smoke coming out of her ears.

My mom was dressed in a neat gray suit, smiling gently, but her words were sharp: “Which family’s little punk are you? You think you can call me Mom?” She stared down at Mason, eyes narrowed, like she could see right through him. I felt a chill run down my spine.

Her voice was soft, and Mason Carter’s face turned bright red. He shrank back, cheeks burning. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

I tried to break free, but she held me tighter. “Stay away from my Evan from now on. Don’t corrupt him.” She had a grip like a vice. “You hear me? I don’t want to see you near my son again.”

After saying that, she dragged me into the car. I barely had time to wave at Mason before she shoved me into the back seat and slammed the door. It was like being arrested by the fashion police.

When we got home, I was locked in the storage room. It was cold and smelled like mothballs. She didn’t even look at me as she turned the key. “Evan, are you getting too close to bad kids? Your punishment tonight: no dinner. Think about what you’ve done.”

Her voice was muffled through the door, but the message was clear. No food, no freedom, just me and the dark. I slumped against the wall, feeling more alone than ever.

She closed the door, then spoke from outside: “Remember, Mom does all this for your own good.” Yeah, right. For my own good. I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they’d get stuck. Classic parent move.

For your own good, my ass! If this was love, I’d rather have none of it. I kicked the door for good measure, just to let her know I wasn’t buying it.

The windows were sealed, not even a light. It was pitch black, the kind of darkness that feels heavy. I groped around, tripping over boxes and old Christmas lights. Welcome to my new home, I guess.

It was so dark, I couldn’t help getting sleepy. I curled up on a pile of old Santa hats, hugging my knees to my chest. The quiet was almost comforting, in a weird way. I tried not to think about food.

I lay on a pile of old holiday decorations and dozed off for a while. I dreamed of greasy pizza and late-night TV, of my real life, slipping further away with every minute. Even in my dreams, I was hungry.

No idea how much time passed, but hunger woke me up. My stomach growled so loud, I thought it might set off the house alarm. I sat up, rubbing my eyes, feeling like a zombie. If I didn’t eat soon, I’d lose it.

I pounded on the door, called out several times, but no one answered. I tried yelling, banging, even singing. Nothing. Just silence. I started to wonder if this was some twisted experiment.

Are you trying to drive me crazy? I started to wonder if this was some kind of sick test. Maybe they wanted to see how long I’d last before cracking. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

“Hungry, hungry, hungry, ahhhhh!” I wailed, voice echoing off the walls. I didn’t care who heard me anymore. Desperation does weird things to you.

“Will someone take pity on this starving ghost? Give me a bite to eat, send me off, I’ll reincarnate as your kid!” I started making up songs, just to pass the time. “Feed the ghost, feed the ghost, or he’ll haunt your toast!”

“Dear sir, am I starving? If I die, who will make me mac and cheese...” I pressed my forehead to the door, imagining a steaming bowl of Kraft. My mouth watered. The hunger was real.

“La la la la la, it’s so lonely on the road to the afterlife. I’ll haunt everyone within five hundred miles. Let’s hold hands, walk together, and create a happy life...” I started laughing, half-crazy, half-starved. My voice echoed back at me, making it feel even more surreal.

I banged my head against the wall as I yelled, and even started singing out loud. I must’ve sounded like a lunatic. But hey, desperate times call for desperate measures.

When the door finally opened, I was crawling around, twisting, writhing, howling, and screaming on the floor... I made sure to put on a show—rolling, moaning, the works. If they wanted drama, I’d give them drama. I was not above theatrics.

When I looked up and saw them, I immediately jumped up, rushed over, and grabbed my dad’s collar: “Who stole my bag of Doritos? Was it you?” He looked so shocked, I almost burst out laughing. I shook him like a detective in an old cop show.

I clutched my head and ran around. I spun in circles, hands in my hair, yelling like I’d lost my mind. If they wanted crazy, I’d give them crazy.

Randomly grabbing people and shaking them like some kind of TV drama: “Was it you who took it?” I pointed at the neighbors, the cops, even the family dog. No one was safe from my wild accusations.

“To you, it’s just a bag of chips, but to me, it’s my life!” I clutched my stomach for emphasis, staggering like I was about to faint. If this didn’t get me some food, nothing would.

“It’s fine, this is normal. People’s fates are different. The world will keep spinning without me.” I flopped onto the floor, pretending to sob. It was over the top, but hey, I was committed. Gotta sell it.

My dad was stunned, but my mom, being experienced, hugged me right away: “Evan, why are you hiding here by yourself? Mom’s been looking everywhere for you.” She knelt down, pulling me into a tight hug, her voice trembling just a little. For a second, I almost believed she was worried. Almost.

Dad quickly caught on and apologized to the police and neighbors: “He’s just playing around, sorry, sorry.” He forced a smile, waving everyone off. The neighbors looked skeptical, but started to drift away. I could feel the embarrassment radiating off him.

My mom covered my mouth so I couldn’t talk. She pressed her hand over my lips, whispering, “Not another word.” Her grip was ironclad. I tried to wriggle free, but she held on tight. Never underestimate a suburban mom with a reputation to protect.

She’s a woman, but really strong. I made a mental note: never challenge her to an arm wrestling match. She’d win.

“Mason’s parents, don’t just care about his grades. Pay attention to his mental health too! In the middle of the night, I thought my house was haunted—my dog was crawling and twisting all over the place!” One neighbor shook her head, muttering about how kids these days needed more fresh air and less pressure. I almost wanted to agree.

The police gave them a few words of advice: don’t use violence, and don’t disturb the neighbors. One officer even handed my dad a pamphlet about family counseling. I saw him stuff it in his pocket, face burning. Awkward.

Dad and mom awkwardly smiled and apologized. They bowed and scraped, promising it wouldn’t happen again. I almost felt bad for them. Almost. But not really.

After everyone left, Dad picked up a stick to hit me. He didn’t say a word, just grabbed the broomstick from behind the door. My stomach dropped. I braced myself, heart pounding.

Mom stopped him. She stepped in front of me, arms out. “Wait. Not here.” Her eyes flashed. “Cover his mouth so he doesn’t scream.” Her voice was icy. She looked at me, daring me to try anything.

If I were in my own body, I could definitely break free. I tensed up, ready to bolt. But Mason Carter’s body was smaller, weaker. I barely stood a chance. I hated how helpless I felt.

But Mason Carter’s body was too weak. I struggled, but Dad pinned me down like it was nothing. I felt helpless—and furious. I bit my lip, trying not to cry out.

Dad pinned me down and hit me, aiming for my arms and legs where it would show. Each smack burned, and I bit my lip to keep from yelling. I could feel the bruises blooming under my skin. It hurt, but I was more angry than anything.

“Let your classmates see, let you know what shame is! See if you dare do it again!” His voice was a low growl. I wanted to scream, but I just glared at him, hating every second. I swore I’d never forget this.

The stick really hurt. Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not in front of them. Not ever.

Suddenly, I remembered seeing bruises on Mason Carter before. He’d pull his sleeve down to cover his eyes and stammer that he fell by accident. I remembered all those times I’d seen him in the locker room, hiding his arms. I never asked. Never thought it was anything serious.

I even teased him: “Did you do something bad and get grounded by your parents?” I cringed, remembering my own words. I thought I was being funny. I was an idiot.

“Hahaha, even good students get punished? Must’ve done something awful!” The memory made my stomach twist. I’d laughed, and he’d just smiled, eyes down. I felt like trash.

I really deserved a beating myself. I clenched my fists, wishing I could go back and punch myself in the face. Karma, I guess.

The next day, Mom made me wear my short-sleeved uniform to school on purpose. She handed it to me with a tight smile, daring me to complain. I put it on, feeling exposed, like I was wearing a neon sign that said “Damaged.”

Ever since the bus incident, she didn’t take me to school much anymore. She said she was too busy, but I knew it was because of the whispers. I walked alone, head down, feeling like a walking bruise.

After leaving the house, I didn’t go straight to school. I wandered the neighborhood, rolling up my sleeves so everyone could see the bruises. I wanted someone to ask, to care. But no one really did.

I rolled up my pant legs to show off my bruises and strutted around the neighborhood. Some people stared, others looked away. A few old ladies clucked their tongues, shaking their heads. It was like I was invisible and on display at the same time.

If neighbors asked with concern, I’d cry and snot all over, complaining to them. I laid it on thick, sniffling and sobbing, telling them how hungry I was, how my parents didn’t love me. Some believed me. Others just patted my shoulder and hurried off. I almost laughed at how easy it was to make them uncomfortable.

After wandering for half an hour, I finally went to school. I dragged my feet, dreading the day ahead. I just wanted it to be over.

Mason Carter saw me and his eyes went wide. He looked horrified, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. I shrugged, trying to act tough. What’s so surprising? Haven’t you been punished before?

I wanted to say, "Welcome to your life, buddy." But I kept my mouth shut. No point in making things worse.

After school, Mason Carter kept his distance from me. He avoided me like I had the plague. I couldn’t blame him. He must be trying to avoid me. I watched him slip out the side door, head down. I almost laughed at how pathetic we both looked.

I grabbed him and almost got punched. He spun around, fists up, eyes wild. I held up my hands, backing off. My old buddies surrounded us, glaring at me. They looked at me like I was the enemy. I realized, for the first time, how easy it was to lose everything.

Speechless. I just stared at them, words stuck in my throat. How did it get this bad?

What kind of treatment is this? I wanted to yell, "It’s me!" But I couldn’t. I just watched them turn away, feeling more alone than ever.

I made Mason Carter tell me all about his parents. “I’m going to get revenge. Don’t stop me.” He hesitated, but finally started talking. The more he said, the more I wanted to punch a wall.

He rambled on, and the more I listened, the more I pitied him. His stories made my own problems look small. I felt a weird mix of anger and guilt.

“So you had it even worse than me. Hurry up and find a way to switch back, I’ve had enough!” I tried to joke, but my heart wasn’t in it. I just wanted out.

“Actually, actually, my parents are pretty good sometimes.” He said it so quietly, I almost missed it. I wanted to argue, but then I saw the look in his eyes. Even as he said that, as soon as he saw his mom at the school gate, he ran off.

He bolted, not even saying goodbye. I watched him go, feeling more alone than ever. My old buddies scattered too. They didn’t even look back. I stood there, clutching my backpack, wishing I could disappear.

“Evan, were those your friends just now?” Mom’s voice was soft, almost sweet. She took my bag, smiling like nothing was wrong. Mom still smiled gently, taking my bag. “I’ve seen you hanging out with them a lot lately. You seem close.”

Her tone was casual, but I could feel the tension beneath it. She was fishing for something. “This weekend is your birthday. Invite them over to our house, okay?” I blinked. Was this a trap? Or was she actually trying to be nice?

What’s this woman up to? I narrowed my eyes, trying to figure her out. I didn’t trust her, not for a second. Is this what Mason Carter meant by his mom being nice sometimes? Maybe he just didn’t know any better. Or maybe he was desperate for any scrap of affection.

I spent several days convincing my old buddies to reluctantly agree to come to my birthday party. They grumbled, but eventually said yes. I promised there’d be pizza and video games. That seemed to help.

But Mason Carter refused to come no matter what and even warned me to be careful. He looked me dead in the eye and said, “Don’t trust her. Seriously.” I didn’t listen. I should have.

“Evan, I’ve never had a birthday party.” He said it so quietly, I almost didn’t hear. My chest tightened, but I just shrugged it off. Even if Mason Carter said that, who cares? I really missed my friends.

I told myself it didn’t matter. I just wanted to feel normal for one day. Besides, it’s a birthday! I tried to hype myself up. Maybe this time, things would be different.

Only once a year— even the strictest parents will spoil their kids on this day, right? I clung to that hope, even as doubt gnawed at me.

On Sunday, I finally got to brag, play video games, and hang out with my buddies. We sprawled on the living room floor, controllers in hand, laughing and yelling. For a moment, it felt like old times.

They complained about my weak body, and I almost cried. “Dude, you can’t even beat the tutorial!” one of them joked, ruffling my hair. I laughed, but it stung. No brothers, no manliness. I tried to flex, but they just laughed harder. I rolled my eyes, grinning.

When the candles were lit, I was just about to wish to be Evan again. I closed my eyes, ready to blow out the candles. I knew exactly what I wanted. My mom came back, carrying a bucket of KFC iced cola.